


Where the Light Dwells

by aripheese



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Porn, Choking, Creampie, F/M, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, Mating, Porn with Feelings, Step-Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aripheese/pseuds/aripheese
Summary: Dimitri gets sick and tired of longing, for once, and poorly justifies his life decisions.(There is Merciedue, if you squint.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	Where the Light Dwells

25th Day of the Ethereal Moon, 1180.

Dimitri had always been one who pined from an uncomfortable distance, but none of it conflicted him more than his for Edelgard von Hresvelg, his beloved friend who had sought refuge in Fhirdiad until her departure six long years ago. Yet, in just the same vein, she was incidentally his step-sister, and that particularly made his longing unconscionable.

He hadn’t known why, really. He bore more blood-relation to Claude than Edelgard, but there was a decaying historical precedent in Fódlan for noble inbreeding. That lesson from his governesses was utterly ghastly, and he had attempted to banish it from his memory as soon as he’d learned it -- to his obvious failure, of course.

Sylvain had already imposed upon Dimitri the “superior result” of his carnal experiences, though he gladly took the blame for that one, due to the sheer strength of his sincerity. There was no hiding a single emotion, even the unspoken passions of the heart, when one was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and it was indeed because he so poorly concealed how he gazed yearningly at her that Gautier’s scion had routed him out. Oh, the dastard. Curse him for paying attention to someone other than a woman for once. Well, perhaps the planets had aligned or some nonsense like that, as it had been him ogling the fairer sex this time.

On its face, the advice was passably pragmatic. “Just approach her,” he had said, “and be yourself. Well, maybe less of yourself than you were with Mercedes’ fabric-scissors. But yourself, Your Highness. You know what I mean. And remember, no repeating the dagger incident.”

That final olive branch would have, of course, been much more evocative had Edelgard not been the girl against whom he had committed such a transgression of romance, but he might have been able to taste how his stomach soured had he divulged that particular intrigue to his classmate. His ability to withhold pertinent information was a work-in-progress, but Sylvain never would have let him live it down because he already gave him no quarter about the dagger mishap without even knowing her identity.

That was about all Dimitri brooked before he had conveniently found another place to be. He had planned for tonight to be the night, because it was the paragon of all nights for two estranged childhood sweethearts and long-lost dance-partners to rekindle their affections for one another. It was anomalous for him to even consider the prospect of love in his future, a future he thought fated to end in gristle and bloodshed ever since the Tragedy of Duscur, but the monastery’s very air was pregnant with romance and its trappings of anxiety. Dense to these matters though he was, no matter how many bawdry things Sylvain had ever said in his company, he hadn’t possessed density enough not to notice how distinct the atmosphere was in comparison to its common flair. 

Dimitri was prideful in even his smallest of victories. Not to the point of arrogance as such was unbecoming of Faerghus, but he was prideful.

She still carried his gift around like a lifeline, after all. There was no way that his strike tonight wouldn’t be true.

†

“Your Highness,” greeted Dedue, gingerly closing the door to Dimitri’s personal bedchambers behind him. 

He smiled genially at his vassal after pushing his chair into the cavity of his work-desk. Their last conversation had been somewhat painful and hopeful in the same sort of way, and so he was making an attempt not to let it show. Of course, efforts to that order never quite went well for Dimitri, and so he internally quelled his welling need to relax the formality between them. “Hello, Dedue. Goodness, is it that time already?”

“Yes. … You’re not wearing a thread of ballroom regalia.”

A statement though it was, Dimitri recognized it as the question he had intended. “Indeed. The Academy Ball attire cannot be more anything more than our uniforms, as we’ve students from every caste and all walks of life. I am inordinately grateful for it, too, for I need not be stuffed into the overstarched materials of formalware.” Ah, that hadn’t even won a titter from Dedue; in fact, his only reward for that lightheartedness was the succession of two blinks. “Aha. Have you a dance-partner this eve, Dedue?”

He hadn’t cared to earn a bristle from this one he so desperately wished to befriend, but it was rather charming to watch that imposing figure stiffen up. “No,” he replied after a moment, with an accompanying head-shake.

So stolid was Dedue, though, that it was difficult to determine whether he’d wanted that to change. His behavior in bristling suggested that, perhaps, and he had incidentally overheard Mercedes fawn over him with Annette once, just a hair under a month ago. “I wouldn’t yet discount the girls of our class,” Dimitri supplied as words of encouragement, trying his hand at advice by opting to believe he wanted to remember the night somehow. 

Something flickered in his tea-green eyes, but he captured those errant feelings back into his composure before they ran too long away. “Your Highness, it is my duty to escort you tonight. I am not going to dance.” The crestfallen disapproval Dimitri had leveled on him was to no avail, as he hadn’t budged an inch in edgewise by it. “If you are ready, we should make our way down to the Reception Hall. The festivities will begin soon.”

Ah, why should it work, anyway? For as long as they had been actor and axe, the lion-cub eyes had never worked on him, and so he shouldn’t curry the expectation that they’d work at a time like this. No matter how he had hoped. Dedue had made his boundaries as transparent as he was, his wish for their relationship to only remain professional and not venture into fraternity, and so it was only an exercise of unfairness to take his suggestions further than he had.

And so Dedue granted him passage through to the noble hallway, where they were joined by jovial Sylvain and agitated Felix who was forced to sacrifice Training Hall hours for this. Their entourage gained Ashe once they’d passed his dormitory on the way, as he had been so uncannily poised outside as if he were waiting for them, and then -- well, there it began.

His hair like the sun, his eyes like the sea, and his outfit pressed, prim, and perfumed gently with something earthen -- and he knew the fragrance was subtle because barely he could smell it, the keener nose he now had -- Dimitri was ready. He was ready to find Edelgard and take her to that silly, sentimental place where man and woman made a wish that bore a destiny of fruition, but it was no longer a promise he would make to the Goddess about losing her.

No. This time, it was going to be a threat.

†

The Goddess had apparently the ability to read his mind, as Edelgard had made herself scarce the entire evening. Bless the sweet girl whom he had danced with when they had brushed backs time and again, as he had hardly been able to focus on her. He could not even recall what she looked like, only that she danced moderately well and followed where he led with an enthusiasm he hadn’t deserved, and that was after minutes of peering directly into her face.

Oh, his stars, he had it bad for the imperial princess.

Dejectedly, he had skulked outside after that and gotten a breather in the monastery’s flowered atrium, its fresh-smelling bouquet true succor for his befuddled brain. This was going nowhere near as well as he had anticipated it to, and he hadn’t even the opportunity to speak with her yet. Finding her available was half the challenge, but the little he had seen of her was more than enough motivation.

Her new hair-color like moonlight, her eyes the selfsame pastel shade of lilacs that he remembered, her dancing form as prowessed in his observations, and her fashion of dress immaculate and regal, possessing of those qualities he had loved in her as a girl but now all honed to the nines. Edelgard was level-headed comportment in the flesh.

As he had stridden northward, he caught the flutter of silver hair flash past him to the somewhat far east, and Dimitri’s heart had abruptly become lodged in his throat. There was only the cathedral across that bridge. Could she mean to head to the Goddess Tower?

She hadn’t been wont to reveal it to him as a child, not very much, but she was a fan of romances. It was no true wonder why she would be drawn to a place with such wistful renown as the Goddess Tower’s, but he personally believed the legend itself was a load of fallacious rubbish, no matter how much he coveted her.

Feeling the fool, Dimitri trailed her all the way there, cautious not to be seen until the very right moment. Subterfuge wasn’t one of his greatest strengths, and he would be the first to tell anyone that, but tonight, something special was in the air.

Everything had to be right.

It wasn’t long until he stood on the highest floor with her, fully cognizant that she knew there was another in the building with her. She hadn’t even turned around before she addressed him, however.

“Dimitri.” All right, well, that made him sputter internally. He genuinely thought he’d been roguish enough to escape her notice. 

“I should have known you would have seen me,” he professed in spite of himself, relishing in whatever had swollen in his chest the moment she turned about to face him. She was basked in Ethereal’s silver, lovelier beyond his capacity to describe. His step-sister, never part of the family canon until she had slipped through his clumsy fingers. Now, she was the only family he had left, save for Uncle Rufus, of course.

He hadn’t any ire to spare His Drunken, Slovenly, Decadent Majesty. Not now. Not with El before him, with every mote of grace and beauty at her immediate disposal.

“The same could be said of you, I suppose. Here I thought I had snuck out of the Academy Ball without any prying eyes, but you tailed me. Why?”

Those eyes were ever-appraising, but she had to crane her neck much more severely to look into his face than she originally had, six years ago. He hadn’t known what kind of facial expression he projected, but he felt giddy, as he always had in her presence now.

“Actually,” she cut in again, stepping closer into his vicinity so to sharpen her scrutiny, “there is no need for that question. Not on a night like tonight, in the Goddess Tower. It was not only here that you followed me tonight, Dimitri. You have been on my heels since you spied my arrival at the Ball proper.”

“Please forgive how plainly I will speak, but you have eluded me just as readily as I’ve sought you. Edelgard, you have -- you have been avoiding me since I asked after your --”

“Halt!” she interjected, lofting an out-turned palm toward him. Even the silken surface of her glove shimmered in the ambient light. “Dimitri.” Even his name spoken in her stern voice made his ribcage stutter. “It is as I said in the Abyss. Now is not an appropriate time to ask after that, nor will it ever be.”  
“Very well,” he despondently echoed, softer in tone than he had wanted to be. Had he truly been such a horrific friend that she had forgotten all about him? The mixed signals between that and his dagger at her hip merely served to confuse him. 

“Come now,” she crooned, pacing again toward him. “You’ll not make a great ruler if you cower like a kicked puppy at the first obstacle, Dimitri. I am not rejecting you tonight.”

“Oh?” he chirped, unable to help the excitement that raced through him. Dimitri cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Correct. Do you know the legend associated with the Goddess Tower?”

“W-well, yes. Such and such regarding a wish and how it may come true were two lovers to make one on this night, together. I do not put much stock in --”

“That is only half the legend,” she afforded him, seizing him by the righthand gauntlet to maneuver him toward the vined, white balustrades that fenced in a balcony that oversaw a black chasm. “It bears a referent event, between my parents. It is said that on visitation to the monastery, my father, after his ascension, returned to the Goddess Tower on a whim, this very night. When he arrived, he found my mother here, beneath the moonglow as it filtered in gently through the paneless windows here.”

Dimitri relinquished a quivering breath he hadn’t realized he bated. What a thing to have in common with an Emperor of Adrestia, and no less, to share such an experience with his daughter, the heiress-apparent to all of his lifetime’s toil.

“It is said that they fell in love at first sight.”

Lady Patricia hadn’t spoken very much of the Empire, not even imparting the knowledge that she was Edelgard’s mother. The King had told him that in a moment of weakness, because he had kept asking about her eyes. Learning this had put him in a precarious position, though, as her mother had married his father, after all. He had long trounced his reservations and trepidation with their technical familial relations.

“Have you ever fallen in love like that?” he queried, after attempting to grasp anything that’d occur to him to ask.

“I perhaps shouldn’t be telling you these things, Dimitri. There is no practical reason for you to know them, but for it to be tonight, I will relent this one time. Make no mistake that I believe in nonsense like destiny, that we do not have the power to self-determine, but …”

He smiled again, shyly but encouragingly. “Please. I would love to hear everything you have to say.”

There was momentarily a glimmer of recognition in Edelgard’s eyes, but she seemed to dismiss it just as quickly. “I am uncertain how he managed to win my affections, because my first true love led with his left while dancing no matter how many times I told his silly self to lead with his right. But I was in love, once, with a noble from the Kingdom. It was many years ago, and I cannot even remember his name or what he looked like -- only the gift that he gave me, and how it always looked like the sun itself was behind his teeth whenever he grinned at me. In many ways, it was the happiest time of my -- …”

Speechlessly, those cobalt eyes of his bore into the woman opposite him, with all the might of his restraint. With his jaw clenched, Dimitri only stared forward at her, beseechingly for something or another. His breathing was heavier, and his passions for her were mounting perilously out of his control, an indignity beyond description for one who already struggled to maintain a steel face.

“The dagger,” he sputtered suddenly, “you -- you still -- you still carried it around, so I could not determine for the life of me why you had taken such pains to avoid me. El, was I so sincerely awful a love to you that you lost all memory of our year together in Fhirdiad?”

That nickname, the epitome of affection they had shared in absentia of her siblings, had stricken her so hard that she, the primly Edelgard von Hresvelg, whimpered. “Those are things you couldn’t have known, unless … That can’t be right. But it would explain your approach in the Abyss and why you have not stopped looking at me the way you do.”

“El, I utterly adore you. I have always loved --”

She squared her shoulders and corrected her already-excellent posture, expressing subtle disturbance in her face. After sucking air in through her nostrils, she said, “I know, but you mustn’ --”

In merely one decisive motion forward, he had cradled both sides of her face to angle it upward and crushed such a willful kiss into her mouth that the remainder of her intended words died against it. It was not how he had envisioned his first to be, but only that she was El had any import. Tears were searing in his eyes, and his blood pounded in his ears, singing for her. Singing for this. 

Then Dimitri realized the impulse he had actioned and tore himself away, eyes wide with self-directed disbelief. “Oh -- oh, no. El, I -- mmf!” Just as immediately, he found himself thrust back into a second kiss with his back rammed into the nearest wall, those diminutive, fragile-looking hands of hers gnarled into his Academy tunic, into his Blue Lions half-cape. He was admittedly beguiled by this, by a woman who had taken charge of him, despite that all of these indulgences were so new.

Her right hand knocked him back from their kiss by the throat and strangely squeezed only at the sides; he had all the gumption of Blaiddyd at his disposal, but he couldn’t raise a finger of it against her, only grimacing at Edelgard with the weight of his questions.

“If you are seeking an emotional connection with me, it will not last.” Acerbic but succinct -- she had always been that way, of sterling rhetoric -- but those same tears were now falling as clear tributaries down his cheeks. Gently, he lay his hands over her wrists to regard her with his shame. “I will usher Fódlan into a new dawn, one without the constraints of nobility, Crests, and Church, and it is a path I will most likely cut over your grave, Dimitri. I cannot save you or Faerghus if you will not devote your banners to my cause.” 

Her arrest of his neck tightened, and he strangled out a guttural growl -- yet still could not bring himself to harm her, as if she hadn’t just confessed to the meditation of apostasy. Her left hand carried its touches southward, roving with pleasant harshness over the tenuous flesh throbbing beneath his layers. 

“You will decide now. Devotion or death. What awaits you in Fhirdiad is certain death either way.”

“Wh -- who -- !” There was blissful silence from all but her, as she had masterfully severed away bloodflow through his carotid arteries. “Who perpetrated the Tragedy of Duscur?!” 

“No matter whom your family’s killers are, you are far too indelicate to be trusted with cleansing them, Dimitri. They are too technologically advanced for us to combat them, able to level entire cities, perhaps level Fhirdiad, within but ten seconds. That is the power you contend with and no less. Fódlan must be unified and the Church dissolved, as the Church prohibits use of the technology necessary to annihilate them. That is the only truth you need to know. Now, you need to choose.” Another tightening later, this time she has pressed the heel of her palm into his trachea.

“How am I to trust you? How am I to know you did not personally perpetrate the Tragedy of Duscur, for all of the brutality you show me now?” 

Oh, the way her eyes suddenly made him wither. The very force of it harnessed the same impact as if she had directly slapped him, and it made his erection twitch under her hand. Such a soft thing, grinding against him like that. Everything between his hips was tight, and she possessed a preternatural aura in the moonlight, her voice colored with the authority of an Emperor. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had assumed her rightful place as the head of state already.

“Do as I say! Choose!” She slammed him back against the wall, eliciting wheezes out of his lungs. 

“Always … bossy,” he remarked affectionately, idly twining her hair around his leathered fingers. “Forgive me, El, but -- but the most endearing parts of you have not changed by any measure. I choose for devotion. I --”

“You are going to fuck me right here in the Goddess Tower. I care not for the so-called desecration of this building, as --”

“E-excuse me, I’m going to what?”

“You are going to fuck --”

Dimitri’s lips parted, bruised and vermilion from their vicious kissing, but it was much too easy to overpower her with the raw strength of his Crest, even through her choking, arraying her on her back in such a way that fanned out her hair like a silvered sun. Even while he ripped away the red leather of her leggings, Academy romper, and all awaiting him beneath, he had done so with such a delicately boyish look on his face, as though he was about to gaze upon a woman’s virginal, nubile body for the first time. “I know that it is what you ask, but you are a maiden and deserve --”

“I deserve what I demanded,” she tersely interrupted him, attempting to assist in shrugging her hips out of all he peeled away from them. Such prominent hipbones, the Crest of Seiros branded over her womb, and the sweet smell of her sex violating his debutant senses like nothing else ere had. 

“Goddess, but you’re beautiful,” he breathed, the pressure in his loins battening down on him mercilessly when the cursory touches of his fingers laid against her sodden labes, the texture of her excitement like semi-runny slime. A shudder wracked its way through him. “I -- I love you, El. I always have. Are you certain that I should take this from you, to lay claim to you like this? I --”

“It should be you, if anyone. You are the crown-prince of fussing, not Faerghus.”

“Ngah …” He secured position between her thighs and accidentally tore the skirt of his tunic when he had intended to lift it upward to access what was beneath it, ignored his gaffe, and began to unfetter his fastens, letting it fall away to his knees. His grievous lusts forced his mast of flesh to attention, its crown redder than the rest of it, and Dimitri poised himself appropriately, artlessly gliding the head of his cock up and down through her arousal. He hadn’t a single clue what he was doing, falling back on sexually repressed Faerghus’ meager education on these matters.

Blessedly, her hips were jolting into every glide, and she made an especially thoughtless noise whenever he tormented the hooded structure at the peak of her sex.

“Dimitri, just fuck me already,” Edelgard commanded him, calling forth a hand to align him precisely where he needed to be. It was fascinating to observe every next inch sinking past the flowered, engorged flesh surrounding her entrance, and then to witness her balking at the sensation of him slowly filling her up -- ah, it made even a man with ageusia resonate with the word ‘delectable.’

She felt as velvet, her active muscles lightly convulsing around him as he molded her to his shape. Once a respectable stride in, he arrived at her hymen and carefully sundered it, delivering the rest of him into the depths of her gash until he kissed the very back of her. She cringed and huffed, but she hadn’t appeared to be in much more pain than that.

When he withdrew most of the way, there was a trifle of her blood on him, but that was merely evidence of her wrecked purity -- nothing really more. “Beloved, how do you feel?”

“Fuck me.”

Dimitri unleashed a harried pant and wrested her legs up by the back of her knees, thereby pushing them as far forward toward her chest as he was able. He made loving eye-contact with her the entire time, to ensure she felt how safe she was, but there coiling in his soul were the appetites of a sordid beast. His following thrust was shoved into her with as much strength as he believed her Crest-reinforced body to handle, and the next, and the next, until he carried himself into a brutal rhythm that had her yelping in a most gratified way. He had been so desperate to express his love for her that he had neglected to take any of her other clothes off, but he gravely wished he had, wanting to see how powerfully he pounded her made all parts of her body move.

“Beloved, you will be in my bed from now on, as I will not abide by you being elsewhere. Do you understand?”

“F-fuck me --” Her demands had become beggarly mewls, and his climax had long been rising in those flaxen nethers. The intensity of his pumping increased, as well as its tempo, as it crested into being. With a snarl, he pushed himself into the very back of her, arraying his line of fire with her cervix, and hung overtop while she crooned absently about how deep inside of her he was buried while he assumed her own bodily zenith claimed her, somehow.

White-hot ribbon after ribbon of his jism exploded from that surging erection either against or through the strait of flesh adjoining her feminine constructs, and with every muscular spasm of bliss came another movement forth into her, as his hips gently bucked into her with every successive wave.

Dazedly, he hefted himself up by the palms, just to take a look into those pale amethysts he’d come to love so much, to see how she was faring. There was a line of drool dignifying her mouth’s left side, and he hastily mopped it away from her with his thumb. In all of Dimitri’s time, he had never seen a woman look like this. Her tongue was out, and her eyes had rolled upward -- it was actually quite unseemly. Poor thing.

“E-El.” He curved a hand over her cheek again, to bring her to again. “Can you hear me?”

“Barely,” she blearily responded, clumsily reaching forward to cup his in kind but only managing to palm over his face. Whether that was truly her intention or not, he will never know.

Oh, goodness. This was his life now.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a passion-piece I wrote when I truly should have been sleeping. Oh, well. If Voltaire can do it, then so can I. There will probably be more really bad Dimigard in the future.


End file.
